The Chorus of Fate
by Shoujo Kitsune
Summary: Have you ever heard that Hell is being apart from the one that you love the most; that angels are meant to love God, and only God above all else, and that in heaven for one angel to love another is forbidden? What will happen if this rule is broken?
1. Prologue

**Prologue **  
  
The girl walked into the café. It was old, barely standing, but she determined that she liked it there. The streets of outside Kyoto were busy with crowds of people with places to go. She hated them all. Loneliness ate at her, but this was what she wanted, to be alone and forlorn; and for today, this dead café would have to do as her sanctuary.  
  
Shadows plastered themselves to the peeling wallpaper and crept under the dusty tables. Twisted chairs moved when the dim lights from the streets hit them. The glass was shattered and the paint on the ceiling, which was once splendid, was now chipped into awkward shapes. All these things went unnoticed by the girl. She carelessly walked across the tile floor letting her tennis shoes be cut by the shards of glass; her face was uncaring and distant. The girl was Japanese and answered to the code name of Kitsune, the word for fox. And like a fox she was too, with her mysterious stance and mischievous nature. Her skin was pale with clown-like make-up, her spiked hair streaked crimson, and her clothes a mess of shredded fabric. She was short like her mother and strong like her father, but who cared about such things now.  
  
Kitsune propped herself against a table that seemed secure enough to hold her weight and heaved a disgruntled sigh. Her mind swirled with thoughts that had no real purpose, the boy that she left and the family that hated her almost as much as she hated them. Her loyalties were spent and her imagination jumbled. She had nowhere to go and nobody to talk to; her life as they say appeared to have reached a dead end. Her jumbled mind turned to ideas of death. Suicide would be the honorable thing to do, so her wide and dark eyes peered longingly at the glass on the floor. "Like a play," she whispered. "They wander to and fro." She smiled slightly. "Beautiful puppets on strings of fate." She glanced down to look for strings on her own wrists. "The puppet master cuts the strings one by one." She continued, her lips barely moving to form the syllables of the poem. "The dolls, they fall." Her head dipped to the side. "Like toys, God plays with his creations. On a whim they are lost." One last time she peers curiously at the glass and finishes with a flourish. "Porcelain shatters, and fancy frocks are wasted, light dances gleefully on an empty stage." The girl could not recall where she had heard the poem. It had just appeared in her mind, and the words spilled out across her lips like they were meant to be said. She repeated them to herself again thinking over the words before slipping off the table and landing on the floor with a dull thud.  
  
She casually strolled down a row of ghostly chairs, her fingers touching them almost reverently, until she stopped, and her hand dropped to her side. There, in front of her, was a dim corner that she had not seen when she had first arrived. She also took into notice a pile of scattered paper that had gone unnoticed for an obviously long span of time. She cautiously crept over and stooped to gather them up when, in the corner of her eye, she noticed the tattered book from which the pages must have come. Kitsune crawled towards it, the glass cutting into her already dirty knees so that she could pick it up. The book was a strange creation, she decided, with no author or title. She scooped up the crinkled pages and returned them to the book according to the numbers written on the bottom of each page. She couldn't help but notice fragments of passages that caught her attention and it wasn't long until she realized that she had been reading it with rapt attention. So, flipping to the first page, she started to read, whispering the lines into the empty room.


	2. Part One: Lusha

**Lusha  
**  
If you knew him you would anticipate everything, no explanation needed. But seeing that you do not, I shall begin this tale at its origin. Now the difficulty is how to begin, and where to start. So, reminiscent of ancient chronicles, I shall initiate with "In the Beginning." If I recite my literature befittingly, I would then continue with "God created the heavens and the earth." On the contrary, I am not God nor do I appreciate his intellectual opinions, so my own narrative will have quite a different demeanour. I shall not be telling you of lavish obscurities of pain, or hope, Divinity and Fiends. Instead I shall tell you a story of a man and a conflict of such great proportions that the world was never the same again.  
  
My name, if it is even a proper name at all, is Lusha. This is my story as I've witnessed it. To understand you should first know a bit more about myself. I appear to be a Japanese adolescent, but as I'm sure you have heard before "looks can be deceiving." If one were to peer closer during a second or third look, they would notice some rather queer differences. These would become more apparent if one was to know of my personal history. I am an ancient daemon, and although I give the impression of being a model of youth and femininity, I have lived so many centuries I have begun to lose track. I am a beautiful creature with well-angled proportions and perfectly white skin. My silky black hair dangles into a pair of innocent doe-like eyes, and is held behind a pair of slightly pointed ears. Usually I go out of my way to hide these minor wonders with elegant clothing, black lace, and ribbons, which I so love to wear. I prefer a scented tea to coffee, rhythmical poems to music, and dancing rather then sex. I never wear make-up. I can occasionally be seen with a small, light umbrella that I carry as protection from the sun. My black sunshade, a parasol of sorts, is formed of silk extended on strips of whalebone. fastened to an ebony cane by means of pivots or hinges.  
  
For the last few years, I have wandered the earth in search of my lost half, which faded into memory over the dying years. He disappeared during my darkest time; and only as of late I seem to see him beckoning to me from the shadows of dreams. This tale that I tell is dedicated to him, the angelic owner of my immortal soul.  
  
The dream first appeared to me two years ago, tomorrow. At that moment I was in a deep slumber; one that had lasted many seasons, eras, and evolutions. My spirit floated aimlessly through nature, undetected and silent. My rational mind, if one existed during this period at all, was quieted until no thoughts pierced my memories and the passing years seemed to become an unending hum. I could have stayed like that forever, I think, if my slumber had not been disturbed by a dream sent to me from a voice amidst the populating world.  
  
Flashes of light emerged, like one would see from looking at the sun behind the veil of closed eyes. The light took a form that seemed familiar but that my mind would not comprehend. I saw the glowing creature in a strange room that my own eyes had never observed. He sat at a miniature classically styled table, drinking cream from a teacup. The thick milk clung to his upper lip and he smiled in amusement. He appeared to be wearing an outfit that would fit a historical time in a past century; it was fashioned with golden embroidery and glass buttons. His hair, which looked like pale strung gold, was long and curled, reaching his shoulders. The image grew persistently clearer so that I could see the delicate floral patterns on the wallpaper. The dream gentleman stared right into me. I felt my essence grow insignificant as I peered into those misty eyes, and then the vision was gone and I saw how the world had changed since I had fallen into nothing.  
  
So that day, almost two years ago, my soul recreated my material body, and I went in search for the man with those misty eyes. My wish is to talk to him, to know why he came in search of me, a fallen angel with the innocent need to know of my own past, and why it's him I see in my dreams.  
  
Since then the dream returns in glimpses and fragments that I try to fit together like a rainbow with missing tints and hues. I wander around the mortal plain in search of answers that surely he must know. Listening to people, I stroll by, noticing their expressions and trying to imitate them on my own emotionless face. I have a soul, this I know, but who I am is a mystery to me.  
  
.  
.  
.  
  
Kitsune closed the book tenderly, placing a strip of ripped fabric to mark the spot. She lifted her hand to her cheek, surprised to dab at a tear that had appeared there. Her back was against the wall and her legs were curled beneath her weight. The large book lay closed on her lap, and again she wondered where it might have come from. Twilight had settled upon the city, and in the distance, she could hear the horns of the busy street. However the café was a different world; it was apart from the clamour beyond the door. Here it was deathly quiet, and the spirits of the past could whisper their secrets into the ears of an outsider. The girl yawned before closing her eyes. Softening her breath, she was soon sleeping, dreaming of the words she had just read. The book that was on her lap lay open to the page that she had left it, and in her sleep, another voice took its turn at reading the passages within.


	3. Part Two: Ithuriel

**Ithuriel  
**  
Have you ever heard that Hell is being apart from the one that you love the most? Did you know that angels are meant to love God, and only God above all else? Have you noticed that in heaven for one angel to love another is forbidden in case they may learn to love each other more then God himself?  
  
So if love is a sin, and sin is evil, and evil is punished, and punishment means hell, therefore hell is being ripped from love. My conclusion would be that heaven doesn't exist. I am an angel. I reside in what mortal beings refer to as heaven. Yet, although I am in heaven, I am also in agony. The one I cherish is lost to me, and for me to find her I must go to so-called Hell, but what would the difference be? If I find her neither of us will be in hell, and our own heaven can be born. It would be our own Utopia without God and hate or the division from our original sin, which was love.  
  
Let me introduce myself. I am Ithuriel. I am a Seraph and belong to a choir of heavenly angels. I am in the rank of celestial beings, which support God, but I have a secret. I fell in love with another. Since I possess a high position in Heaven's hierarchy, I was held in reserve. However she, my unlucky lover, was turned away to live in obscurity. I watched from above, unnoticed by her, but since her memories were taken she fell not only from heaven but also into depression, so that she disappeared. I thought her dead from her sorrow. Lately I've realized she had put herself into a deep unending sleep to find respite from the suffering. It was then that I devised a plan to reclaim her wandering soul.  
  
Silently, I crept to the mortal plain hoping to be unnoticed, if not by God, then by my peers. I concealed the truth. I was there for my own personal need, in the guise of divine importance. I prayed that my true intentions would go unseen.  
  
In search of my beloved's soul, I went scouring the earth for even the smallest hint of her essence. At first my mission was unsuccessful, and, although I was patient, I began to lose confidence in the insight I received in heaven.  
  
However, on one faithful day, my luck changed for the better. I was sitting in a seemingly insignificant coffee shop somewhere in Japan, and had fallen asleep to the hushed tones of the customers. It wasn't a deep sleep; it was what one could call a state of dozing. A state where you can't quite tell the difference between what is real and what is not. In this peculiar circumstance of awareness, my mind reached out to hers, and for a moment, our souls seemed to merge. In the shock of finding her, I jolted away before mentally trying to grasp for her. Alas, I was unable to do any more then send her glimmers of thoughts, in the hope that they could be puzzled together. I had by then realized that trying to catch her would be useless so I sit here and wait to be found instead.  
  
Two years have passed and I sit in a café in Japan waiting for my loved one to find me. I know that she is clever and will do so eventually, but if not, I shall remain here for all eternity.  
  
.  
.  
.  
  
Kitsune had started reading at sunrise, the moment that the harsh rays spread themselves over the floor and onto her resting body. She had awoken to find the book where she had left it, open on her lap, and continued the story that somehow matched her dreams. Now she lifted herself up to shake out her cramped muscles, and went in search of her backpack and something to eat. Kitsune grabbed a bag of instant ramen, and started eating the crunchy, uncooked noodles. Her mind returned to the story she had been reading. Crawling back with her noodles tucked under her arm, she reopened the cover and once more continued the passages within. 


End file.
